


Hurt

by unsettled



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Humiliation, M/M, Masochism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 23:00:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5684464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding the courage to ask for something he's never had to is a challenge Coward is not sure he wants to tackle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> For viceindustrious's "Coward likes to be hurt. Usually he will just behave like a brat with his partners until they snap and punish him. But with Blackwood, he can't do that, Coward is so worshipful of Blackwood, he can't bring himself to disrespect him in even the smallest way."

He's never had to ask. 

Not for this sort of thing, at least. It may not be simpler, but it is infinitely more enjoyable to push, to pull, to wind his partners up with a well timed sneer, a disdainful look, a disregard of their attempts to shrug him off. Push, and push, and push, crawl under their skin and become the grain of sand that irritates them beyond thought, beyond reason, till their teeth grit and their shoulders hunch and finally, finally, they snap. and strike. 

He has to play it carefully then, sometimes, because if he makes his appreciation for the blows, the violence, too apparent, some will back off, confused. Offer apologies, or embarrassment at having acted out so. And carefully never touch him in such a manner again, so he is forced to discard them, whatever other lovely qualities they might have. 

Some, however, will see the gleam in his eye and know it for what it is, and play the game with him willingly, pushing back, allowing their savagery to rise and meet his, circle and bite and take take take. They tend to be the risk takers, though, his time with them limited when they make one too many societal missteps and he can no longer risk being seen associating with them.

Henry ...

He wonders which side Henry might fall on, if he would back off or press forward. He suspects, hopes, that he'd respond in kind, but Henry has surprised him before. 

He'll never know, of course.

Because Henry - Henry - he can't. He can't quite bring himself to push at Henry that way. He can't push, knowingly, at the boundaries Henry has set, can't treat him with the same mix of manipulation and distaste he's given other lovers. Henry is so much more than any of them, and worthy of so much more. It is an incomprehensible fortune that he has found the favor he has in Henry's eyes. And he would give up every moment of violence to keep what he does have with Henry, would accept only the occasional bite that turns too hard, grip that leaves the faintest of bruises, rare, glorious flash of savagery in Henry's eyes. 

But it is there, something lurking in Henry's gaze, that makes him think _maybe_ , and so he hungers. And like all hungers, it does not fade, but feeds on itself until it is all consuming, until he can think of little else. 

Still his face burns as he turns his head from Henry one night, and asks, in the smallest of voices, for an unleashing of that predatory nature. Stammers, even when Henry simply stares at him, when he tries to talk his way around a more ... explicit inquiry. And when Henry grasps his chin, turns Coward's face towards his and asks, so gently, why he wants this, Coward looses his words entirely, entire body flushes with shame, with embarrassment, with fear. He closes his eyes and trembles faintly, and without Henry's touch, he would run, hide, from this horrible, horrible feeling, from having to ask. 

"Daniel," Henry says, and there is a hint, just a hint, of something darker in his voice, enough of a hint for Coward to open his eyes. 

Henry's grip tightens on his chin, and it gives him hope. Gives him a feeling, like a hook in his chest, that rises out of the awful, sick feeling of humiliation that only grows as he opens his mouth, as he leans in, closer and closer with each word, until he is pressed against Henry. "Please," he says, "please, my lord. Hunt me, savage me, tear me apart. I will hurt so good for you, I swear it." He presses his mouth to Henry's jaw. "Hurt me," he whispers against the skin, and Henry's fingers tighten to the point of pain on his chin, before his face wrenched up, presented to Henry's for a kiss that is like nothing Henry has given him before, and it _hurts_.


End file.
